


We Remain

by My_Name_is_not_my_Own



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Sam Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Sam Winchester Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:36:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26900758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Name_is_not_my_Own/pseuds/My_Name_is_not_my_Own
Summary: When Jess dies, the only person Sam wants to talk to is Dean. They haven't spoken in years.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	We Remain

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I have to say that I don't really know what this is. I was trying to work something out with my other fic, and this just came tumbling out. Probably because I've been thinking a lot about Sam and Dean and how close we are to the end of this show. Feels like the end of an era. So, what better time than now to explore their brotherly relationship and all its ups and downs in a slightly different, non-supernatural way? Not sure what I'm doing here, and my other fic takes priority, but I do plan on continuing to explore this newfound inspiration. I'll update tags as I go. Please mind them when I do. This will likely get darker, so the rating reflects that.
> 
> If you're here and reading this, then I hope you enjoy it!

When Jess dies, the only person Sam wants to talk to is Dean. They haven’t spoken in years. Not since Sam received his Stanford acceptance letter, shoved everything he owned and could carry into a worn duffel bag, bought a one-way bus ticket to California, and never looked back. 

Still, Dean’s voice is the only one he wants to hear. After weeks of condolences and casseroles and professors offering extensions on overdue papers and projects, Dean’s voice is probably the only one he could even _stand_ to hear right now. 

Sam sits on the edge of a park bench, oblivious to the world around him, one that is moving rapidly forward even though his own world stopped when the life left Jessica’s eyes, and stares numbly at his phone for four hours before he finally dials his brother’s number. 

Dean picks up on the fourth ring.

“Well, I’ll be damned... Need something, Sammy?”

Sam closes his eyes and lets his brother’s lilt wash over him. The words come off as surprised. Mocking. Maybe even tinged with relief. But they’re also defensive, and this makes Sam’s chest sting with a familiar kind of guilt and shame. 

He never should have left home. Never should have chosen an education over family and John Winchester’s business. Never should have… 

If he’d never left, Jess would be alive. Maybe Dean wouldn’t hate him. Maybe his father would somehow finally be proud of him. _For once in his life_.

Sam shakes his head a little and tries to latch onto that small thread of relief buried underneath his brother’s voice. 

But he still can’t shake the guilt and shame building in his gut, because the thing is, Sam _does_ need something. 

He needs his brother. He needs _Dean_. 

And he feels unbelievably shitty for that fact, because he also knows that he doesn’t _deserve_ his brother. His head begins to spin with long-buried emotions as he thinks about how to respond or what to say. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have called, but he can’t bring himself to hang up now.

He wants to tell Dean that he’s sorry for leaving. That he’s sorry for never coming home. For never calling or writing or texting. For basically cutting himself out of Dean’s life as much as he cut himself out of their father’s. 

But he also wants Dean _here._ He wants to ask Dean to come for him. Wants to tell his brother about Jess and the sly way her eyes crinkled when she teased him or told a joke. About all the destroyed pans and burnt lasagnas they’ve gone through because neither Sam nor Jess could really cook. How Jess could probably go head-to-head with Dean in the pool-hustling game or drink his brother under the table. He wants to tell Dean about his classes at Stanford. About his eccentric professors. About his LSATs. 

And Sam wants to talk about the fire. Something he hasn’t done with _anyone_. 

Hell, he even wants to talk about the ring he’d bought for Jess a few months ago. The one he never had a chance to give her.

There’s so much that Sam wants to say.

Now that he actually has his brother on the phone, though, Sam has no idea where to begin. And he knows that anything he _does_ say would never be enough to make up for all of the pain that he’s caused over the years.

“Dean.”

The name comes out as a broken breath and he knows instantly that Dean understands something isn’t right. 

Dean’s voice adopts an entirely different kind of edge. “What’s wrong?”

“I just…” 

Sam’s hands begin to shake. He can feel sweat dripping down his forehead. His sight is shadowed with images of his entire life burning to ash around him. 

He wasn’t there when Jess died, but he should have been. He should have been there to save her. Or die with her. 

Now, when he closes his eyes, he sees crackling flames and scorching flesh and lifeless eyes. 

He wasn’t there, but he can imagine her pain and terror. She died alone, and his chest aches when he thinks about her heaving her last breath in their smoke and fire-filled apartment. 

In their _home_. 

He built a life here, with Jess, and all it took was one kitchen fire for it to come crashing down.

He can’t...he doesn’t know what to do.

“I just wanted to...check in. See how you’re doing.”

Sam cringes at Dean’s incredulous laugh, but he knows he deserves the reaction.

“Nice try, Sammy. If you wanted to check in on me, you would have done that _years_ ago.” 

Sam hears the strained pain in his brother’s voice and bows his head. His breath is shallow and ragged. He shouldn’t have called. He doesn’t deserve comfort. He _does_ deserve to get chewed out for abandoning his brother. 

“I’m not going to ask again.” 

Sam can hear the icy promise in Dean’s words. Harsh and demanding.

“What’s wrong?”

Sam leans forward, vision swimming. His left hand grips the bottom of the bench, fingernails scraping viciously into the wood. There’s a tingle of pain near his fingertips, but he barely notices. He thinks about all the things he wanted to say.

In the end, he settles for just three words.

“Jess is dead.”

“Who?” 

The question is heavy. 

Sam tries to push against the weight of it without choking.

“My...girlfriend. Jess is...there was a...a fire and...I wasn’t...I wasn’t there, but...I’m sorry, Dean. I shouldn’t have called. It’s...inappropriate.”

Dean is silent on the other end. It’s painful to hear. That silence. So Sam’s fingernails dig deeper into the wood of the bench and he takes a shaky breath and says, “But I really do hope that you’re doing okay, Dean.”

He hangs up before his brother can even answer.


End file.
